


Breathe

by angellteeth



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Gen, Guess what everybody im writing when i should be sleeping again, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:48:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25854628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angellteeth/pseuds/angellteeth
Summary: Some nightmares are easy to shake off, most of them, not so much.
Kudos: 25





	Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> it gets a little bloody at the end of the nightmare segment, oops

Ford was running through a forest.

He had no idea what he was running from but he'd been running for hours and he'd begun to bleed somewhere and he was so tired and all the trees and branches just kept closing in and he wouldn't be able to run anymore and he had to _get out, had to get out, had to get_ **_home-_**

And he ran directly into a massive hole.

A scream ripped itself from his throat and he was blinded by a massive light at the bottom.

A portal. A rip in dimensions. God knew where he'd end up but he hoped maybe he'd get a moment's rest.

He fell through one world right into another and realized he'd been wrong.

He landed on stone floors, hitting his head with a _thunk_ and heard voices all around. Or, _a_ voice from every direction.

 ** _His_** voice.

"Well, well, well, well, well, well, well, look who decided to drop by!" His _awful_ goddamn voice. "Just in time for the **_s h o w!"_**

What the hell could he mean by show?

Ford didn't have time to think, he was being lifted into the air with the familiar feeling of chains around his neck his wrists.

No no no no nonononono, _not again not again not again_ **_not again God no-_**

He could _not_ live through the fearamid again.

He could barely see, everything was dark and he couldn't tell if it was Bill or because he smashed his head on the ground or if it was just an over abundance of shadows or _what,_ he could hardly think, and every movement felt painfully _slow_ as he tried to rip the manacles off his neck but he was just _ripping into his own throat and he couldn't breathe and he couldn't stop and everyone was screaming and dying and there was so much blood and he couldn't see or grip do anything about it or_ **_breathe-_**

He jolted and choked trying to get air in his lungs. His neck was burning and he couldn't _see-_

Taking a deep, shaky, breath, he tried to remember where he was. Trying to stay still and look around, he realized everything was in motion. Swaying back and forth. He was on a boat.

He was on _his_ boat.

It was his boat and it was dark and he couldn't see but he could _breathe_ and he could _move._

He touched his face and realized he was shaking, and he was missing his glasses. Those would help. If he could see clearly he could calm down.

He slowly sat up, still breathing deep, and reached out toward the nightstand for his glasses. He couldn't stop himself from shaking.

He needed his _gun,_ not a pair of glasses.

Gripping his glasses, he jerked his arm back. A small, logical, voice in his head scolded him for being afraid to extend his limb.

He took a deep, long breath and put on his glasses.

Now he just needed to get up and turn on the light.

But he couldn't move. If he got up, he'd sprint for the door and get as far away from the room as possible. He knew that wouldn't be acceptable so he was _stuck._

Stuck in a corner in this dark room with nothing to defend himself but a pillow because he couldn't just _get up and turn on a light._

Trying hard to keep his breathing even, he gently touched his neck. He must have started scratching at his neck at some point. At least he didn't actually break the skin.

For a few minutes, he just kept trying to breathe and rubbing his neck.

He knew he couldn't just sit there all night.

He'd either have to turn on the light and calm down or end up running around the boat like a madman and whichever it was he just had to live with it.

Taking one last deep breath and holding it without realizing, he stood up off the bed and practically jumped away to the center of the room. His lungs started burning and he frantically flicked on the lamp, trying to stay equidistant from every piece of furniture that could be hiding _something._

Light flooded the room and for a second he couldn't see. He slowly let out his breath as his vision adjusted to the light.

He was alone. There was nothing chasing him and there was no Bill. He was safe.

He was alone.

He'd appreciated being alone back in the portal, even for most of the summer he'd gotten back. He'd felt safest like that, and he didn't need to account for taking care of anyone else should something happen.

But now it just made him feel vulnerable and like something could happen at any moment.

He knew what would help him, but it was obviously late and he couldn't just wake up Stan to whine about feeling nervous.

They both needed their sleep as much as anyone else.

He'd started shaking again.

Maybe he could just. Go check up on Stan. Maybe he'd calm down then, having confirmation he wasn't _too_ alone.

He took a breath and opened the door to the hall as quietly as he could. He didn't want to wake him up, just make sure he was present.

Stepping lightly, he made his way to his brother's room.

Maybe this was stupid. He shouldn't need to make sure Stan was still there. Where would be go? He'd gotten weaker since his days in the portal. Too dependant.

He took a deep, slow breath. It didn't matter if it was stupid. It was something he had to do or he wouldn't sleep. Though, who knew if he'd sleep regardless.

Opening the door a crack, he realized something.

Stan was not there.

That kicked his nerves right back into high gear. He yanked the door shut without thinking and pressed his back to a wall, trying to calm down even a little bit. He'd always been paranoid, and it had just gotten worse as he got older and he was having a harder time dealing with it.

He took a deep breath and tried to count to ten but his breath caught in his throat and suddenly he just _couldn't._

He couldn't breathe and he couldn't stay in the cramped hallway anymore. He needed to think. He needed _air._ **_Space._**

Heart pounding, he scrambled out on deck where he finally managed to suck in half a breath through his clenched teeth and straighten things out a little.

Breathing more or less rhythmically, but definitely not calmly, he took a good look around.

Everything was as it was supposed to be, the sky looked like how it only could far, far away from everything else, and Stan was leaning on the railing and smoking.

Ford went over and stood by him, leaning on the rail and shaking. Maybe he could blame it on the cold.

Stan took one look at him and knew it definitely wasn't the cold.

"Yikes, you okay, Sixer?" He prompted, dropping the cigarette on the ground and stamping it out. He could clean it up later.

"I-" He'd intended to say he was fine, but he didn't have the lie in him. He sighed tiredly and slouched further. "I don't know. Probably not."

"Wanna talk about it?" Stan asked and rested his weight on his elbows.

"I don't know. Maybe later. I'm tired, it won't make sense if I just start rambling now."

"If you say so." Stan let him keep his turmoil to himself for now, instead opting to pat him on the back and leave his hand on his shoulder. Casual affection, it helps.

Ford tensed at the contact, then gradually relaxed and found himself leaning heavily on his brother. Just focusing on breathing was taking too much energy.

Stan didn't seem to mind. He squeezed Ford's shoulder and started to rub his back. It had helped a lot when they were young. Hopefully it still would.

Ford could feel his eyes start drooping. Between the lack of any immediate threat and Stan's consistent presence, any adrenaline was wearing off. Maybe he'd manage to get back to sleep that night.

At the moment, he chose to just breathe.


End file.
